The Reunion
by Quidditch Anyone
Summary: I know it's been done, but not like this. Think Bridget Jones, champagne, and cute Ron... FINE.
1. Gone From Hogwarts and Back Again

"The Reunion" by Quidditch, Anyone?

  


Gone From Hogwarts and Back Again

  


Having nothing better to do in my third year out of Hogwarts, I have decided to attend this formidable excuse for a party. Oh, sure, I loved the school. Loved it to death, actually, and that's exactly the problem. I graduated top of my class, still close to my two best friends in the world, Ron and Harry, and ready to take on the world from a witch's perspective. So the problem? Well, I'm not so sure, exactly. Maybe it's my _job_, I job I am underpaid and overworked at, when I could be doing so much more. Or perhaps it's my lack of _friends_, they having all moved up the sorcery ladder to bigger and better things and leaving me in the dust of confusion. Or my lack of _social life_, or appalling _appearance_... or a combination of these things. Maybe leaving the best school in both the wizarding and muggle world has left me to believe that my adulthood in comparison is a living hell. At least in hell they have fire, though. All I have is a bloody subscription to Witch Weekly and barely a few dozen Galleons in the bank...

  


Hmmm. Perhaps life isn't that bad. Maybe I have just become a cynical, bitter person having left a better life behind. Well, no time to broad on this now; the Portkey is in sight.

  


"Hermione? Hermione, is that_ you_?"

  


Oh, dear God. It's none other than my dear old roommate from school, Lavender. Wonder what_ she's_ up to. Probably married with hills of gold and everything I don't have. Oh, good, she got fat.

  


"Oh, Hermione, darling, how_ are_ you?" she squealed. And planted an obnoxious, sopping kiss on my cheek.

  


"Oh, fine, just fine," I responded shiftily. One old friend down... thousands to go...

  


"I can't be_lieve_ how good you look! Finally got the right tools to tame that hair, I see?" she winked. I seem to hate it when people do that recently.

  


I gave a false half-chuckle. "Oh, yes. I-I've finally got it all tamed and figured out." I think I'll just 'leave out' the mentioning of my 3-hour scalp torture to get my hair look halfway decent. She doesn't need to know all that.

  


"Bloody, I can't wait for this, can you? I've been looking forward to it for_ weeks_! I must say, seeing all our old friends from school... this is just the_ best_, isn't it the truth?"

  


"Mmm," I 'mmm'ed as I check the time. Four minutes and 17 seconds to go...

  


I know she's talking. I mean, I can see her mouth moving, and her facial expressions all illuminated, or whatever. But for some reason I don't hear what she's blabbing on about. Maybe this has something to do with me not caring.

  


"Almost time," I cut into one of her ramblings. Something about 'Seamus', 'Forgive him... always late', and 'never does housework'. Hmmm... that's all just quite dandy, really, Lavvy.

  


"Three... two..." I pay close attention to my watch so I don't have to focus on her excited squeals. Then suddenly we are jerked forward and the town on London disappears as we are heading back to where everything worth telling started... Hogwarts.

  


  


  


  


A bit pessimistic, I know. Hermione would never be this unhappy. It's just kind of a spoof on that scene from Bridget Jones... the one with the "Do you know... where the toilets are?". It'll get better, I promise. Right now it's just the result of not having to go to school tomorrow (yay for me), not being sleepy, and still having to read Oliver Twist so I can start on a much better fic.

  



	2. A Charming Entrance

"The Reunion" by Quidditch, Anyone?

  


A Charming Entrance

  


The ground solidified below my feet. A wobbled a bit in my new heels, but I managed to keep upright. Can't say so much for Lavender, who jerked forward with an almighty 'whoopf!' and landed on her oversized behind.

  


"Just a but excited," she giggled as I made a fruitless attempt to pull her back up.

  


"That's all right. Don't think anyone say you," I told her while trying to brush a bit of dirt off her back. Note to self: do not let Lavender's drink count exceed three. The only thing worse than an energetic fat friend at a reunion is an energetic fat friend at a reunion who's drunk and singing "Yesterday".

  


A toothy smile awaits us at the gate where the old-school stagecoaches were parked. The school must have updated their transportation system, because you could tell the horses were old and not exactly up to a journey- even though they were invisible.

  


After the few minutes it took Lavender to get into the compartment, and the bumpy right straight to the castle, and setting foot once again on the grounds we knew so well, it all came swimming back. The sight of the castle, the happy chatter of people inside, the slivers of sunlight just over the mountaintops. It felt more like home than my craptacular apartment on the grey streets of London ever could. All warm and familiar, like a security blanket. You know, maybe this wasn't going to be so-

  


"Oy! Bucky brain! Remember_ me_?"

  


Or maybe I just spoke too soon.

  


Right on cue, the famous Mr. glossy blond hair and invariable smirk met my eyes at the top of the stairs. Still cunning, still horrid, still a pain in the ass.

  


"Malfoy!" Lavender squealed as her pudgy legs hurled her up the stairs. Malfoy froze at the sight of her. Better still, her practically broke out in hives when she hugged him. Ergh.

  


I laughed to myself at his reaction to SuperFiredUpLavender as I walked inside. Before I could make my way in, Malfoy held my arm back and snarled, "You think that's funny do you? Well, how about _this_?"

  


His wand hit my new diamond necklace. Instantly the shining gems turned into real ice and started melting away super-fast, leaving me with only a thin silver chain.

  


"YOU!" I hadn't even done anything wrong. I reasoned that he did that because he was so stunned that he just hexed the closest thing to him. Rather, the closest thing that wasn't smothering him with the smell of wife-made sugar cookies and a hint of rum. But that's okay; I got even by kicking him in his very own gems.

  


Well, now that I've made sure Malfoy is off my back (and probably down lying on his), I can assure that I make my perfect entrance into-

  


Uh-oh. My triumphant face dissolves as I turn around and find that the doors are open. No, scratch that; the doors are open and every face inside is gawking like they've never seen anything like me. I blush. Someone inside yells, "You go girl!" and everyone laughs. I blush even more.

  


Good job, Hermione. You haven't even entered the castle and you've already given everyone the wrong impression of you. From here, just walk inside... nice and cool... right, smile, nod, small steps... where's the nearest beverage stand? God knows I could use a... ah, champagne. Perfect.

  


"Hermione? Hermione _Granger_?" questions a male voice. I spin gracefully and see Harry, the one person I actually don't dread seeing right now.

  


"Oh, Jesus, _Harry_!" I drop my cool-as-a-cookie-and-twice-as-sweet manner. I come closer and we kiss on the cheek.

  


"Didn't think you'd even show up! I haven't heard from you forever," he smiles.

  


"I'm so sorry, Harry. I just though with your career and everything you wouldn't want your old school friend always calling you," I tell him. He just laughs at me.

  


"You just get here?" He examines the table for a cracker or mini-hotdog he can snack on while I'm watching the social scene unravel.

  


"Yup. How 'bout you?"

  


His mouth is full of some sort of dainty party-sandwich. "Just a while ago. Been waiting forever for you or Ron to show up."

  


He gets crumbs in my already messed hair. "Really, Harry! If you remembered one thing from school, it should be how to not talk with your mouth full!" I know I should just lighten up, but for some reason I don't feel like commenting on what he just said.

  


He swallows and smiles. A bit of food is still on his cheek. "Come on, come join the rest of us," he pulls me away. Apparently he doesn't entirely share my philosophy of "this sucks".

  


We meet up with Dean Thomas, Neville, Ernie Macmillan, and a few other men I can't exactly recognize.

  


"I can't believe it! You look wonderful!" Dean offers as he takes my hand to kiss it politely.

  


"Thanks, thank you, Dean. You look great yourself," I smile kindly.

  


"Always on top. Smartest girl in the school," he reconciled. I laugh lightly.

  


"I can't even_ imagine_ what you're doing now!" Dean continues to exclaim.

  


Oh crap.

  


"Yes, tell us, Hermione; what are you doing now?" Neville grins.

  


I look from one eager face to another. "Erm..." They expect me to say something like I charmed the common cold, or found a way to make self-simmering cauldrons. "I-" I, I... oh, I'd just better tell the truth. My face turns gloomy and I admit, "I work at a fashion agency. I... I design clothes."

  


Their faces are still stuck in 'smile' mode. "You mean... you mean you own a fashion agency?" Neville tries to clarify.

  


A take a breath. "No, no I just work there. Just design them."

  


Half a dozen faces have that same expression they had years ago when a Professor would ask them what a whoopdanger root was used for. The look awkwardly for words. "Oh," Dean manages. Slowly they drop their gaze and return to their own conversations. Even Harry looks embarrassed for me, but he gives me a weak smile.

  


Ugh. I am such a loser. Just walk away... at least I know things _can't_ get any worse.

  


Wrong again. The crowd parts, the lights dim, all breathing stops... well, not really, but my heart practically does.

  


Ron comes in.

  


With a girl.

  


An ugly girl, at that.

  


Probably a ho. All skinny and stringy-haired, laughing with a mouth full of perfectly straight teeth. Now that I have come clean that I design clothes, I can assure every person here that hers are last-season trash that are a disgrace to models everywhere. She should be ashamed to be in public like that. Really, no taste at all.

  


Ron comes closer with the girl. I bend lower to hide behind the massive statue of Millicent Bulstrode. Last thing I need if for him to see me at the moment.

  


He's looking over the heads of people, trying to spot someone. He's so sure of something. His little girlfriend pulls at his arm. Oh, poor her... Ron's attention wasn't directly focused on her for three seconds. She whispers something in his ear and he gives a short laugh, but after she looked away, his attention was back on that thing he couldn't see.

  


  


  


  


Yesterday, I found out something. I have huge front teeth. You know what that means? Well, I'll tell you. It means I'm a top-of-the-class nerd with frizzy hair and bucked teeth. Hmmm... remind you of someone? Good news is that I'll get the 'Ron'... whoever that may be.

  



	3. Not The Same

"The Reunion" by Quidditch, Anyone?

  


Not The Same

  


Okay, okay. Perhaps kicking a man in the you-know-whats, publicly announcing that my career is a total failure, and running away from my former best friend like a puppy about to be fixed isn't the best start to this thing they all call a 'reunion'. I had a tiny ray of hope that this would have a classic Sleeping Beauty happily-ever-after ending and somehow I would be rescued by Prince Charming and be carried away on a shining white hippogriff. Instead I'm now hiding in the girls' loo, trying desperately to stop shaking and, more importantly, fix the heel that had twisted in my rush to hide behind a human boulder. I use a quick repairing charm, but it still seems a bit uneven compared to the other. Funny, I used to be so good with this sort of thing.

  


I look in a slightly speckled mirror hanging over the faucet, which drips in rhythm to each second I'm counting down until this is over. I don't look like me at all. Not just outside, though, but I can tell just at a glance that I've become somewhat hollow and worthless. My eyes are like matted slate without any shine. I learned long ago that over time, a person's most common facial expression becomes permanently etched into their face. By the time we're old enough, we can tell an autobiography by wrinkles and lines. I wonder what mine says.

  


Oh, God, this is so depressing. Stuff it, Hermione, you're not some nitty-witty, over-emotional gal. Just go back out there. So I turn around, only just realizing which bathroom this is. It's the one attacked by the troll when the boys and I first became friends. Last time I saw it, it was all splinters and dust. I guess I thought it was like my life at the time; just waiting to be repaired, because it could be such a lovely bathroom if it just had the chance. Once I graduated, I thought I could at last make something of myself. But the truth was, every bathroom in this school now looked the same, like us. I myself didn't remember what it was until now. I guess in that way, all ugly and overlooked was probably the most recognizable state it could be in.

  


·~··~··~·

  


"This is so God awful. I canceled my hair appointment for this, and I have _yet_ to come to realize why I came."

  


I try to creep silently down the hall as the voice breaks to light a cigarette. My heel makes me stumble and the clatter can easily be heard in the echoing corridors.

  


A tall, bleach-blond figure emerges from a cluster of shadows. She's so skinny, the fag in her mouth looks like a cigar. In front of her I can only make out the backside of a man; short, stalky, and black-haired. I don't know who this man is, but I'm sure of the woman.

  


"Hermione? That you?" the toothpick asks.

  


"Er, yeah, yeah it's me. Is- is that you-"

  


"Yes, yes, it's me, Parvati," she drawls out haphazardly while she breaths in a lung full of smoke. The stalky man mutters something like 'I'll be at home' and leaves.

  


"Wow. You look... er..." I fail to grasp words.

  


"I know, I've been told," she replied tonelessly. She blows artfully out the side of her mouth. "No one can believe that 'cute lil' girl' grew up to be," Parvati laughs darkly. "Well, me."

  


I don't really know what to say, so I stop trying.

  


She nods her chin up at me. "What you up to? Prob'ly most brilliant witch in Europe..."

  


"Actually I'm a fashion designer," I reply quickly and dryly. No point in being warm and fuzzy, I guess.

  


She takes a long look at me and sucks on her cigarette again. "Well... I'll be."

  


I half-smile, half-smirk.

  


"Well, I as much as I hate it, guess we better get back in there," she sighs.

  


"Yeah, yeah I guess. Ah, Parvati-" I begin awkwardly.

  


"Mmm?" she raised her eyebrows.

  


"Erm, I don't exactly think you're- you're allowed to, umm," I hesitate. She just looks rather blank for a minute, then snaps to it. "Oh! Right, right, right." She takes it out of her mouth and smashes it into the marble floor with her rather lofty choice of footwear. Then she smiles and starts to join to crowd in the Great Hall. I look down at the ashes and paper and could almost scornfully laugh. Guess we've all changed, eh?

  


  


  


  


My author's note is going to be short and sweet. Why? Because it seems whenever I say something, it comes out wrong.

  



	4. Old Friends And A Few New, Too

"The Reunion" by Quidditch, Anyone?

  


Old Friends... And A Few New, Too

  


"Disgusting," Parvati mutters to me. She sucks on another cigarette, her boney cheeks pressing up against her skeleton-like jaw. The total time she spend away from her beloved nicotine was about the same as it took me to blink. Can't blame her, though, so I let it slide.

  


"Can't believe every person here turned into such a... a..."

  


"Low-class, low-income thug?" I suggest. That's all she wants to here. Parvati herself is plastered in gold rings and dripping with snobbyness. 

  


"Right," she breathes.

  


I grab another chocolate frog as my companion continues to people-watch.

  


"I don't see Ron," she ponders aloud. I drop the glass I'd been holding with a small 'chink'. Parvati looks down without much sympathy, unless that includes blowing a small cloud of smoke in my face. I bend down, flick of my wand, and the glass and alcohol disappear.

  


"Did you see him?" she continues.

  


I look up at her from the floor "I dunno." My hand has a difficult time grasping the side of the table to pull myself up. I stumble on my slightly uneven heel.

  


"Thought of all people, he would come. Seems like the type that would be all, you know... 'into it', or whatever. Popular, in a nerdy sort of way."

  


I tell her Ron wasn't a nerd. Or, at least, I tried to before realizing I had misplaced my voice somewhere on the floor. However, she gets some sort of message from the look on my face.

  


"Oh, right, sorry. So very sorry, I should have known you still had a thing for him," she drawls in her now signature toneless way.

  


My face gets hot and tense. "I-" my voice cracks a bit. "I do not. Ne-never did."

  


I know she's going to throw either an insult or a shallow chuckle my way. I'm so very _not_ in the mood right now, so I drift off rather quickly.

  


Okay, start looking for someone to talk to rather than people who will assume these sort of things about you just because of your past. Hmm... old Hufflepuffs, no. Slytherins, definitely not... drink table, ah, that'll do the trick.

  


To my left I hear an uproar of laughter. My reflexes make me look, only to find Harry, Ron, Ginny, the twins, Alicia, and Angelina. Oh, and the slutty girl's there, too.

  


Urgh. This group should be renamed the black hole... their chatter and smiles are so contagious, so inviting, I'm somehow sucked into it all. 

  


"God, were have you been this whole time, Hermy?" a not exactly sober George asks me.

  


"Don't call me Hermy," say through gritted teeth. The twins just laugh and fall back on one of their favorite past hobbies- Hermy Crushing. A twin of either side of my smashed into my shoulders and I can't breathe. They keep crushing me more and more until I pull down on their identical bowties and their heads collide.

  


"Hey! I just bought those for two Knuts _apiece_ at the second-hand-second-hand store!" Fred jokes. Ha ha ha. Meanwhile George, convinced that I made him blind when he hit his head, starts absentmindedly mussing my hair like a mental patient.

  


"Cut it out!" Everyone else just laughs.

  


"So... you're, Heather, right?" asked the anorexic girl.

  


Oh, how dare you speak to me. You little witch. I mean, I'm the witch... you're just a... a... well, you're a slut, at least! God, I would love to say that. But instead I end up telling her "It's Hermione, actually."

  


"Oh, I'm so sorry." Riiight. "I'm terrible with names. But, of course," she smiles and puts on some cheap, sexy voice. "Ron told me _all _about how he used to know Harry Potter. So pathetic, isn't he, having to bask in the reflected light of his _best friend_."

  


I can see Ron turn bright red and look down at his shoes as she laughs. I'm all too familiar with the different shades he can turn; this one doesn't mean he's embarrassed in an 'awshucks' sort of way, but in a way that he'd sell his entire collection of Chudley Cannons quidditch cards to make the speaker shut up. He doesn't turn this shade often, and when he does the subject is dropped, no questions asked. I, of course, know all of this because I was his best friend and she's just an insensitive, awful little- excuse my foul language- bitch.

  


The conversation isn't that intriguing for a bit. I mainly sit there and tear my paper napkin into miniscule squares. For each piece I try to think of some way to humiliate Twiggy in front of Ron. Too bad the napkins are small.

  


"Well, when _we_ went there, it was lovely," cried Twiggy from across the table. I roll my eyes and look up to catch what she's talking about this time.

  


"Yes, Ron and I... such a great time it was," she smirked. I suddenly have the urge to know every detail muttered about this subject.

  


"Now, had you planned the trip for a long time, or what? I hear finding a way to travel that far is hard to do, with the ministry's regulations and all," Harry put in.

  


Twiggy laughed. "No, no. Ronnie's so spontaneous, I don't think we had been dating a week before we left, actually."

  


A passing drink tray catches my eye and I grab a tiny glass of whatever's being served. All in one motion- lift, head back, gulp down, back up, tremor slightly. Don't think I even saw what went down before it was gone.

  


As I shake my head once more to get rid of that sudden thrill, I suddenly realize my new best friends for the night- vodka, whiskey, and rum.

  


  


  


  


Special thanks to everyone who has reviewed this mediocre story so far:

  


CurlsofGold- I tried to read and review your stories, but I only speak one language... except for the phrases "Wie heisst du?" and "Ich haben das Spaghetti".

jaffacake- I have no idea how you managed to read that book when you were 9. I can't get past the first paragraph. Really. I'm that bored.

Jessy- Just what I like; a review that's short, sweet, and right to the point. Thanks, hun!

Anakah- Thanks!!! I'm glad you consider it Bridget Jones-ey... Hermione's really more like Bridget than anyone.

Tanya Maxwell- Danke!

ImagirlRon- It's so nice to have all this positive feedback. P.S. Interesting Pen Name...

  


You're my new best friends. Well, close enough, right?


	5. Gettin' Down

"The Reunion" by Quidditch, Anyone?

  


Gettin' Down With Mr. Mystery Man 

  


One hour and dozens of alcohol units later, I'm sitting here at the table like a bum on a sidewalk of chatty little schoolgirls. Everyone around me is laughing and having the time of their lives, though I can't help but notice an odd glance in my direction every now and then. They all think I'm looney, I bet, slouching and drowning my hidden miseries without saying a word. Easy for them to criticize me, though, when they're all here with their One And Only Beloved; Ginny with her arms around ol' Green Eyes, the twins with lively girls who truly love the Weasleys despite their endless humor, and Ron. With Twiggy. I myself do not think those two people should be freely names in the same sentence. Unless, of course, that sentence happens to be 'Ron finally came to his senses, dropped Twiggy like third term Divination, and went on his merry way'. She's constantly intertwining her fingers with his, and a few minutes ago I felt a bony foot on my leg, which I'm sure was meant to find his.

  


My new philosophy: PDA should be considered a violation of what can visually be presented to the public in Britain.

  


"Oh! We haven't even told you all the _big news_ yet!" Twiggy squealed quite suddenly. She beamed at Ron with a grin larger than her IQ. Maybe in the near future I should really find out her name. I assume I could just guess it; something like Pricilla, Tiffany, or a French prostitute's name like Chloe (with webbed feet). 

  


Aww, _God_, this is getting old. I gulp another mouthful of wine and close my eyes for a second before they fall upon Ron. He blushed deeply and muttered, "Not now, April. I don't think we should-"

  


"We're _engaged_!" she screams.

  


The rest of the table just look at them both in shock. George starts to laugh, but quickly turns it into a cry of joy and praise. Ginny smiles and kissed her brother on the cheek.

  


I think my stomach just left the party, because it certainly isn't here. I find myself turning around and spotting the nearest levitating tray of drinks. "Another round, please!" I scream throatily. I can feel sets of eyes darting towards me as the tray hurries over and I pick up a shot.

  


Aaand- down it goes. And another. Did the music just start, or is that in my head? I suddenly feel quite giddy and I think to myself, "what the hell?"

  


My chair scratches loudly. I'm on my feet and heading towards the dance floor, yet another drink in my hand. This is the point in the movie when I, the main character, starts to not care about much of anything, so I get jiggy. I'm boogying. I'm rippin' up the dance floor. I'm outa sight. Or I could just be drunk and not really trying.

  


Hmm... this guy across the floor is smiling at me. Probably making fun of me. I'm expecting him to lean over to a buddy and snigger in my direction, but he doesn't. Hmmph. That's weird. I continue to dance. Soon after Mr. Mystery Man starts coming closer and dances, too. I try to ignore him, but he keeps flashing his teeth at me. Again, I tell myself I might as well just accept it. Like a passing glass of liquor. I get closer to him, too, but I don't smile.

  


"What's your name?" he grins.

  


"Hermione," I begin. My voice isn't mad, isn't happy, not even matter-of-fact.

  


"You here alone?"

  


I don't answer, just kind of look at him as if he never asked me. I spin, and when I'm facing him again I feel as if I might as well tell him my situation. "I'm drunk. I don't dance. I'm just really, really messed up right about now."

  


Mr. Mystery Man laughs. Nice laugh, too.

  


"My name's Greg," he says. "You thirsty?"

  


"Yes."

  


He turns. "C'mon."

  


I find myself at a small bar (that was obviously just set up when night started to fall). He smiles and smiles and I just reply in a very casual, uncaring way. I tell him everything he wants to know, nothing he doesn't.

  


"So... you here with your friends, or what?"

  


I bite the straw of this new pink thing I'm sucking down. "No, no not really."

  


"Family?" he continues.

  


"No," I shake my head.

  


He chuckles. "Then why are you here?"

  


Perhaps I could make something up. Perhaps I can launch him into a huge explanation of how I'm trying to steal my best friend from some anorexic girl and live happily for the first time since I left this bloody school. But then I all of a sudden remember how stupid that sounds, so I tell him what I now, on the spot, identify as the _real_ truth. "I don't know." It feels like a thousand years of silence and sober thinking, even though neither is the case. 

  


He tries to flirt a bit more before I cut him short. "Umm, will you excuse me? I think I'm going to throw up," I smile. He gives me an odd look as I disappear into the crowd.

  


  


  


  


The 'French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet' thing is from Austin Powers. Everything else is from my own lil' noggin. Sorry if I haven't posted in a bit; the internet isn't working right now, so I don't know when I can update again. Oh well... at least now I can write rather than read (better) fanfics and aggravate you all by keep you 'on pins and needles' waiting for chapters... or something.

  


With a joyous departure,

QA


	6. Departure

"The Reunion," by Quidditch, Anyone?"

  


Departure

  


Urgh. The party scene slowly develops in front of me as I walk out of the bathroom. I feel like something that was eaten by a monkey, then the monkey was swinging through zillions of tree branches, then the monkey threw me up. I probably smell similar to that as well.

  


Everything comes clearly into view only after I spot Ron with the crew. I suddenly am extraordinarily embarrassed and want to leave- but my purse is still on the chair.

  


Hmm. I think of some disgustingly witty departure to leave with, which would be much easier without the movie screen flashing before me that demonstrates me pulling every one of Ape-[I want too]KILL's hairs out. This ends up useless. I guess I'll just leave as quickly as possible, then. I doubt anyone would have noticed me talking anyway.

  


"Yes, well, I think I'm going to catch a Portkey out of here," I start. Semi-transparent groans arise from my schoolmates.

  


"Don't feel bad," I say truthfully. "We all know what's worse than a single person in a group of happy little couples; a _wasted_ single person that didn't really belong to begin with and ran off to dance with the first man who looked at her."

  


The group... er, just kinda stares for a while.

  


I smile and cock my head, closing with a cheery "g'night!" and stride out of there before you could say 'bitter, single reject'.

  


·~··~··~·

  


Only two of the Portkeys are leaving this early, neither of which anywhere near where I live, but I really don't want to stay around Hogsmeade. I guess I could take the night bus. Or I could just take one of the Portkeys to King's Cross and catch a muggle train to London. A walk in the city might be nice, so I decide to go with that plan.

  


The old and crushed tin is frigid under my fingers. Three,two,one, and I'm off- just that quickly. I didn't even get a chance to glimpse back at the castle. My throat feels tight for a second, but I take a breath and let it go.

  


Soon I discover that the next train won't be leaving for at least an hour. I sigh and sit on a bench. Without a jacket I shiver slightly and cross my arms tightly.

  


I'm so stupid. Not academically, of course, but I feel like I'm battling with common sense. This one part of me was 100% pumped to slap Twiggy and tell Ron everything. It would be so perfect and I'm dying to do it. Then this other side of me kicked in and told me to shut up, become very cold, and just get over it all. Life goes on without people. I really hate this side of me, so then why do I always listen to it?

  


Now my nose aches, my throat tightens, and my eyes itch. It's that 'feeling' again. When I'm going to start bawling about something stupid. And it'll just get worse because I'm mad that I'm crying to begin with. I just wait for a few seconds and I'm okay again.

  


"Hermione?"

  


Ron. Without Twiggy.

  


"What are you doing here?" I turn to face him in my orange plastic seat.

  


"Better question would be, what are _you _doing here, running out on our reunion like that?" He sits down next to me.

  


"I just wasn't feeling too well," I smile.

  


"Yeah, I can imagine," he grins. "I've never seen you like that, Hermione. You've changed."

  


"Yup."

  


A few seconds go by without any conversation. I swallow this block in my throat and ask: "So, you're getting married?"

  


He look uncomfortable. "Well... yeah."

  


"You don't sound very enthused," I tell him.

  


"Er... it's, it's nothing."

  


I sigh and lean closer. "Tell me."

  


He takes a minute. "I didn't really propose to her."

  


Huh?

  


"Then how come she said you were getting married?" Did I miss something?

  


"Because she thought I did, but I really didn't!" he said rapidly.

  


I'm still confused.

  


"I'd tell you the story, but it's really embarrassing and... just, please, don't ask." He turns his Ronny red. I smile.

  


"Tell me."

  


Ron smiles back at me. "All right, fine, but you can_not_ make fun of me!"

  


"Course not."

  


"Okay," he took a breath. "What happened was that we were walking on the sidewalk and we happened to be in front of a- a jewelry store." His face seemed to be getting darker with every word he uttered. "And I went down to tie my shoelace, can you believe that, and she thought... well..."

  


I'm laughing harder than I have in months. How _stupid_ of her! This is something that's in a bad teenage movie, only not. "She thought you were _proposing_?"

  


"Yes," he smiled with embarrassment, but stopped after his next remark. "But now I don't know what to do."

  


I shut up. This isn't funny, Hermione.

  


"Oh my God," I say.

  


He looks helpless. "I really don't know what to do!"

  


"Just break it off." 

  


"_How_?"

  


"Just tell her exactly what you told me... that it was an accident. Accidents happen," I advise.

  


"Not like this, they don't. She'll hate me!"

  


"Well, do you want to spend the rest of your life with this girl?"

  


"No!"

  


"Do you want to make the biggest mistake of your life just because you won't tell her the truth?"

  


"No."

  


"Then just _tell her_!"

  


In the end we compromised that he go back to the castle. He'd have to work things out from there. I never went back, but I'll just say my fingers were crossed that entire time on the train.

  


  


  


  


Nothing really new happening. I'm thinking of starting an advice column, because I think I'd be pretty good at it. Problem is I don't know how... or why. Hmm. Anyway, back to something you actually care about; sorry I haven't updated forever, but I've been a teensy bit on the busy side.

  


Love and all that good stuff,

QA


	7. The Wedding

"The Reunion" by Quidditch, Anyone?

  


The Wedding

  


2 months later...

  


Should have put on a warmer jacket; I'm freezing. Should have remembered my lipstick because I think it needs a little touching up. Shouldn't even be here at all. Should be at home, in my broomstick jammies, clicking through muggle cable and bingeing on low-fat ice cream. Instead, I'm at Ron's wedding.

  


It's really cold out and the wind is wrestling with leaves while I'm wrestling to keep my skirt from flying up with them. I really hate this. I want to leave. Now.

  


Finally, the gigantic doors open and I'm allowed to go into the warm church. I warm my hands and take an middle seat in the very back.

  


"This seat taken?" I hear Ginny whisper in my ear. I jump and place a hand on my racing chest.

  


"Good Lord, Ginny, don't _do_ that!"

  


She smiles broader than she was before. "Can't believe this, can you?" The seat creaks as she puts her full weight onto it. I shake my head.

  


"The first one to do it, you know?" She says dreamily while gazing at the alter. "And I thought Ron would be the _last_ of us to get married!"

  


I laugh weakly and shift my weight, hoping my uncomfortableness is purely physical.

  


"Just can't believe it," she whispers again. I watch Harry up there brushing something off his crisp best man's robes, then realize Ginny's watching him, too. They exchange smiles of pure ecstasy. I know they'll be the next to be up there together, all pretty and smiles and happy. I seriously consider excusing myself in case I start to cry.

  


"Well, I can," George bellows as he plops himself down on my other side. "If not, then I'm telling ye, I won't be happy if this thing's canceled and we all came here for nothing."

  


Alicia takes a seat next to him only after playfully punching him in the arm "Oh, stop it!"

  


Fred doesn't join in the jokes, but gives George a very unFred-like look. Almost like he's being serious, or something weird like that. His twin notices this, blushes instantly, and clears his throat. "Yes, well, er..."

  


"How's work, Ginny?" Angelina says quickly, changing the subject.

  


"Oh, fantastic, thank you! Never thought I'd actually write a column in the Daily Prophet. Always like a dream of mine."

  


"Well, we're all so happy for you," Alicia grins.

  


Ginny's a writer? For the Daily Prophet? Geez, have I been trapped under a rock or something all this time? What's next, Harry's a pop star, recording hit records and touring Europe?

  


Actually, he's a _quidditch_ star, I soon find out. Oy, this is what it must be like to have amnesia. 

  


All gets quiet while the band starts a lovely wedding piece. All eyes turn to greet Twiggy, but mine are glues to the front. Ron's fists keep clenching and unclenching. Harry whispers something and I can tell it's dead serious. Ron closes his eyes and swallows for a minute, but I notice he doesn't nod or shake his head in response. Harry looks like he's going to have a Chudley Cannons style heart attack.

  


Gulp.

  


Twiggy- er, April, as it said on the curly blue wedding card (which was quite untasteful, to be_ perfectly_ honest), steps up onto the platform where she's going to get marries in just a few minutes.

  


"We are gathered here today," the white-haired priest starts. The music has stopped but still seems to echo. The previous pleasantly warm air now seems sweltering hot. It's happening, it's really happening. 

  


"To join these two lovers..."

  


It's incredibly hot now. I feel sick. To my left and right clusters of Weasleys sit politely and smile. I have to find out how to do that, pretend to enjoy myself so well.

  


"In holy matrimony."

  


White lights. Blinding lights. It's so bright in here!!! And the music's still playing in my head, as are pictures I keep remembering...

  


I can't even really hear what the priest is saying. Scenes of the three of us together, then just Ron and I, then just Ron... they're all on fast-forward in my headworld. The sound is faint, but I can hear eerie wedding tunes and a speeding noise. It's not real, not yet, not now...

  


"... repeat after me... I, Ronald, take thee, April..." The priest is screaming and all other noise halts.

  


A second passes. And a few more. After a rather pregnant moment of silence, Ron cracks his voice and forms words:

  


"I, Ronald, take thee, Hermione..."

  


Unbelievable. April's face went from heavenly to murderous. Every single quest takes a sudden gasp and starts muttering frantically: "What did he say? Who's Hermione?". Ron chokes on air, the priest clears his throat, and I've been petrified.

  


"Er, R-Ronald, would you perhaps like to try that again?" the priest urges feverishly.

  


"Ah, yes, yes f-f-father. Please," he stutters. April is stabbing him with her gaze, while he turns the color of rotten plums and starts to sweat heavily.

  


"I, Ronald," he repeats slowly and clearly. "take thee, April..."

  


"I-I-I, R-Ron-Ronald," Ron stammers. He very nervously smiles because he can't get the rest out.

  


"How about one more try, Ron?" Father is obviously getting extremely irritated.

  


"I-I-ye, Ron-n-n-nald, t-t-take-"

  


"How about just a yes, then?"

  


"Yes!"

  


"Good." The priest looks venomous, but it's nothing compared to the girl who's standing in front of Ron. "And April-"

  


Twiggy shoots him an evil eye.

  


"I, April, take thee, Ronald," he continues lazily.

  


"PARDON ME!"

  


A hundred guests sit starch straight at her yell.

  


Twiggy throws her bouquet onto the red velvet floor. "If you think I'm going to let you get away with that, _Ron_," she pokes him very harshly. I'm reminded very much of a Howler as her voice echoes off the intricate ceiling. "Then I refused to let myself marry the likes of you!"

  


Twiggy slowly turns to face me. Her retinas burn holes in mine.

  


In one movement she's hopped off the platform, storming over to me, and screaming very unchurch-and-ladylike words laces with spit in my face. By the time she's bawling her way out the doors, I feel similar to a melted pool of cherry Jell-O.

  


Only I could find myself ruining a wedding by just sitting in my chair, not saying a word.

  


The silence is unbearable. It would be so much better if they were all screaming at me, but no, they're gawking at me like I'm some sort of mythical creature they all just noticed was there. I don't know what to do. I blush and sink in my seat- nope, still sitting here. I didn't try hard enough to make myself invisible.

  


"Well, I guess that settles that," the priest breaks in with a sharp snap of the bible. "Best be off, then." He walks out into the sunlight so casually as if this sort of thing happens every day. One by one the rest of the spectators follow him, some muttering under their breath, others still trying to get a good look at me.

  


The Weasleys and Harry are the last to move. They all smile skeptically and look torn about whether or not to leave, until Harry clears his throat pointedly and suggests that they all go find some way to dispose of the cake. (in other words, leave the two alone, you idiots!) I can't help but notice Fred wink in my direction before disappearing, however.

  


"Er, so..." Ron begins awkwardly. His face isn't as red now, but he's still perspiring from nervousness. I can't feel my fingers which are clutching my purse.

  


Just tell him, get it over with.

  


"You know, I should have listened to you, called it off. This was a total disaster," he tries.

  


Should I tell him I feel sorry for him? Tell him it's all right, it was for the best?

  


Ron's looking at me but my eyes are on my shoes. "Is everything okay with you?"

  


Of course everything's not okay, you prat! Do you have any idea what you just did? You've- you've...!

  


"Made me happier than I've ever been in my life!" I find myself exploding for the first time ever.

  


"Ex-excuse me?" Ron's asks meekly.

  


I groan and drop my purse to the ground. (just in case I feel the need to wring his neck, you know?) "Ron, you know what you put me through when I found out you were getting married?"

  


He looks terrified, but shakes his head.

  


"You know how long I've just wanted to tell you all this soppy rubbish, and how much I hate myself for not ever being able to do it?"

  


He stands still.

  


"You-you know what was going through my head when you said that just now? Well I'll _tell you!"_

  


I grab his neck and pull him forward into a kiss that no Twiggy would ever be able to give him in her bony-legged life. "I love you, you stubborn git!"

  


Ronny, my Ronny, smiles at me and kisses me back. Oh, joy, it's just what I've always wanted- a happy, happy ending to some really sucky story.

  


FIN

  


  


  


  


I made this chapter extra-long and "extra-super special" (real quote-I swear by Godiva chocolate) because I haven't done the fanfic thing for a long time, so I guess I was due for something good. Hope y'all like it, and if you don't, blame television, because that's where the idea came from. (I won't say which show because I don't want people to think I, you know, 'watch it' or something.) On a more satisfying note, I'm officially taking a day off from school tomorrow to exclusively write more chapters to the rest of my stories. In fact, I might as well just drop out and become an official internet bum. 

  


Oh, one more thing- I saw the second movie and I'm going to see it again Thursday and JOY!!! it was good! Hermione and Ron SOOO liked each other, it was awsome! My only complaint was that I was at the very end of the first row, next to some snot-nosed kid, so I didn't get to experience my highest LHPE (Level of Harry Potter Enjoyment). But then again, that's why people like me see the film 80 or so times...

  


All happy now because of movie/no school,

The Loving QA


End file.
